Page 119 of An Inside Job

Bertoli fingered his gold pectoral cross. “And when your Russian buyer discovers that he paid a half billion dollars for a forgery?”

“Obviously he will want his money back.”

“Which means you will be out a grand total of one billion dollars.”

“For your sake, Eminence, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“My sake?” Bertoli smiled coldly. “The Russian oligarch is your problem, Franco. I lived up to my end of the bargain.”

“My investor doesn’t see it that way.”

“He’s your problem too.”

Tedeschi leaned across the table. “Let me make this clear, Cardinal Bertoli. You owe Don Di Falco four hundred million dollars. And you have exactly seventy-two hours to come up with the money.”

“Forgive me, Franco, but I’m afraid I don’t have four hundred million lying around at the moment.” Bertoli looked at his financial adviser and said, “Isn’t that right, Nico?”

Ambrosi allowed Tedeschi to answer on his behalf.

“The money or the building, Eminence. The choice is yours.”

“New Bond Street? It’s worth far less than what the Vatican originally paid for it. And if you foreclose, it will result in a scandal that will undoubtedly lead to my dismissal as thesostituto, which will in turn lead to your arrest on charges of embezzlement and money laundering. To avoid a lengthy prison sentence, you will be tempted to implicate your investor in Naples, Don Di Falco. Therefore, Don Di Falco will almost certainly have you both killed before you go to trial.”

The two Camorra moneymen exchanged a long look but said nothing. Cardinal Bertoli used the silence to check his phone. He had two missed calls, both from the same number.

“Will you excuse me, gentlemen? I’ll try to be brief.” He dialedthe number and lifted the phone to his ear. “Good evening, Father Keegan. What seems to be the problem?... Is it urgent? I was just sitting down to dinner.... Yes, of course. I’m on my way.”

Bertoli tapped the phone irritably, severing the connection. “I’m afraid I have to return to the Vatican. It seems the Holy Father would like a word.”

“We’re not finished,” said Franco Tedeschi.

“We are, actually.” Bertoli rose solemnly to his feet and looked down his El Greco nose at the crooked little banker from Lugano. “My advice to you, Franco, is that you forget about that four hundred million dollars. Otherwise we will all go down together. And that includes your investor from Naples.”

Bertoli turned without another word and, blessing hand raised, glided serenely across the dining room and out the door.

“Now you know how he got to be a cardinal,” said Nico Ambrosi.

“His Eminence is playing a dangerous game.”

“So are we, Franco. Never forget that.”

Tedeschi drew a phone from the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

“Who are you calling?”

“Who do you think?”

“He’ll kill him, you know.”

Tedeschi shrugged. “God forgives, but Don Lorenzo Di Falco never forgets.”

“Words to die by,” said Nico Ambrosi.

48

Casa Santa Marta

The Swiss Guard standing watch outside the Casa Santa Marta knew there was going to be trouble the instant Cardinal Bertoli leapt from the back of his car. A similar thought crossed Father Keegan’s mind when Bertoli presented himself at the door of Room 201. His Eminence, having been called away from dinner, was fit to be tied. Father Keegan’s countenance, however, was as inscrutable as ever.